


For the Future

by Elysionia



Series: Babel [5]
Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Baby Underwoods, Calm Before The Storm, F/M, Gaslighting, Politics, Romance, art geeks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 13:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysionia/pseuds/Elysionia
Summary: His political career is the moon and the stars on his sky, but she will make herself the sun that makes him shine.





	For the Future

_ How many times _

_ can I be _

_ reborn _

_ imprisoned into  _

_ the depths of my body _

  
  


.:.:. 

1990

She loathes being exposed to masses of people. Memories of the grande balls from her childhood rise up slowly like bubbles to the surface. She can feel her cheeks aching with the false smile as she shakes the Senator’s hand and the times when the flashing lights blinded her eyes. Nowadays her candid smile doesn’t falter. 

She can hear the large crowd roaring before the stage as she ascends towards the beams that split the darkness. Crowds shouting turns incomprehensible the closer she gets to the source. Thousand eyes feel like tiny needles fixed on her as her heels click against the podium steps. Her cold fingers rest against the rough fabric of her skirt smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles from the tweed. 

Just another speech she’s been through before, Claire thinks swiping her long bangs behind her ear. Blaring stage lights makes her eyes squint but even without seeing the crowd she can feel their gazes nitpicking on her as she gracefully takes Francis’ warm hand in hers. Reassuring clasp of his hand pushes away the negative feelings as their fingers entwine. 

As her eyes get used to the harsh lighting, a sea of people opens up before her. The people standing in the crowd look enlightened, their eyes burning with the same fire as Francis’. This is his doings. It still amazes her every time, how people have gathered here on the venue to hear Francis’ speech, his own political propaganda. People are hypnotized by Francis’ southern charm and his deep velvety voice. His pretty words fall from his lips forming a melody, lulling people in a false sense of security and trust. The crowds manic chanting and cheering drips through the cracks of her consciousness, echoing into her dreams. 

Through their campaign trail she tours with him. She knows every word of his speeches by heart. Her job here is simple: to sell this perfect image of him to the voters. Venue after venue she stands there besides him playing the supportive wife, waving gracefully, shaking hands, answering to questions, taking pictures, laughing at terrible jokes and kissing babies. Whatever it takes to get the votes. 

They work as a indivisible team trying to win over people’s hearts. His hands grasps in hers fiercely as he declares his upcoming victory raising their joined hands towards the blue skies. In the aftermath she brushes her fingers softly against his forehead to brush away the fly away lock of hair. Their burning eyes stuck to each other, she can see a victorious smirk playing at the corner of his lips before she brushes her lips against his.

It’s all theatrics. Two young Southerners deep in love. Together they make the ideal picture of vitality and strength. The American dream. For these events she has adapted back to her old accent she got rid off long ago. Claire hasn’t spoken like this since attending Radcliffe. Not that her accent could have ever been called thick for her mother had made sure to teach her daughter how true ladies spoke and behaved. But the accent suits the fantasy they have crafted for the crowd. 

Francis, being a young man brought up under his father’s iron fist, having managed to escape the poorness of their peach farm to Sentinel and then to Harvard. Fighting with all his might for survival and now for the Congress. And on his right hand the lily white Texas debutante. A girl as beautiful as any porcelain doll. Eloquent, polished and graceful. Unreal in her ethereal beauty.

In moments like these, standing besides Francis on the podium Claire’s made out of marble. Her white smile reflects the lights under the spotlight covering any feelings she might have behind unmovable veil. Only the squeeze of his warm hand is able to reach her cold core. 

.:.:.

Nothing beats the feeling of home after days on the campaign trail. Sitting in a car or standing for hours in her sky high heels. Despite Claire’s doubts they’ve settled into Gaffney quite nicely. A Year after the wedding they had finally gotten a real bed. It was almost sentimental to let go off that mattress on the floor after having to slept on it for so long. Their hedonistic life long gone with that mattress. Replaced by a real bed with a strong wooden headboard. 

Frank’s heart is swimming with feelings foreign to him. This is the first home where he is happy. It’s not about the too many rooms they can’t fill, beautiful backyard or the nice neighbourhood. It’s about Claire living there with him and breathing life into the house. Without her it would only be a palace of empty rooms and white walls.

Sneakily Claire has bought some paintings to decorate the house without asking him anything. Art is a luxury he simply can’t afford. A luxury she hasn’t learned to live without. He doesn’t even want to know what she paid for these pieces. Despite her silly splurges on something so impractical like paintings or vases, he appreciates her little touches on their home. He has to admit she has eye for colours and tasteful patterns that aren’t over the top. 

As he wanders inside the house after the state senate meeting, he leans against the doorway to the kitchen. There on the dining room’s wall are his favorite pieces she’s brought home. Two dark charcoal drawings of flat stones sitting neatly in a pile. They’re just stones nothing special. But he’s more intrigued by the perfect balance, by the harmony between these two stone piles. At first glance they seem identical but if one were to pay close attention to them, would they see that they are unique in their likeness. 

As his eyes pan down from the dining room’s wall he sees a stack of photographs, which have appeared on their table during the time he’s been away. Frank walks closer to the table pulling out a chair for himself. Creaking of the chair’s legs against the tiles filling the silence. He throws his light grey coat over the chair before leaning back picking up the pictures. Frank’s fingers flip through scenery after scenery of green. He stops at the familiar view, touching the pictures gingerly, recognizing more familiar places from Gaffney, Dallas and Cambridge. 

He slumps over the kitchen table arranging the photographs back into a neat pile. Clock keeps ticking on the wall as his fingertips trace the dark wood. His eyes glance up to the dark charcoal stones that still have remained unmoved. Frank wishes his future would be as stable and predictable. He buries his fingers through brown hair squeezing hard against his scalp as he exhales the butterflies gathering inside his lungs. 

The stakes are getting harder and this is only the beginning. There are still months to go to the vote. One chance to succeed. And he intends to go to the congress, to move on from the state senate. 

It feels useless. Like he’s trying to thread through ocean. They need to gain more momentum towards the vote. He needs to win by more than a landslide so that no one can question his rightful place in the congress. Things are looking positive but anything can change in a blink of an eye. He doesn’t like to leave anything open for faith. 

Fingers slide through his now matted hair as a beam of light paints the kitchen’s cupboards in cold hue. Soon the front door opens with a groak as Claire hurries inside from the autumn air in a flurry of silk, in her arms a full bag of leafy greens daring to spill over.

With a warm hello she dances around the kitchen, putting the groceries inside the cupboards and fridge. Frank watches from afar, admiring Claire’s grace and poise. She’s always moving on the tip of her toes. Putting the milk on the door Claire closes the fridge with a snap. The silence has stretched on for unusually long when it comes to Francis. Her heels click quietly against the tiles as she slowly ambles around the kitchen isle. 

‘’How was your day?’’ She asks carefully, her voice tinkling like bells as she crosses her legs and leans against the white pane of the double doors. Tracking Francis she can sense his foul mood deciding it’s best to leave space between them and only to poke him with her icy glare. Frank huffs his breath rubbing his aching forehead with his fingers, not daring to voice his doubts about himself in front of his wife. 

Claire knows Francis better than anyone so the pained frown on his face makes her step closer to him. The campaign has been straining on both of them. Without a word Claire leans against the table and crouches down to look him in the browns of his eyes. 

For a second his eyes dart to the shining ring of diamonds on her finger before reaching her softened gaze as her dainty hand claims his knee before whispering: “You have to believe in yourself Francis. Don’t fall into despair when you are about to touch the seat. “ 

“Don’t think about the others.” She can see the desperation and self-doubt swimming deep in his brown eyes. She hates it.

“Think about me. Do it for me. Show me you can do it. “ She squeezes at his knee as the burning passion and determination in her eyes catches on him. 

“We can do this.” His voice isn’t as steady as it should be as he nods in certainty but his eyes light up with her fire. 

Claire bites down on her lip shyly before tilting her head: ‘’You know - - I could ask daddy to help us. A small donation to your campaign couldn’t hurt us. We could use it to get your campaign adverts to television, to get more visibility.’’ 

His whole appearance changes with the newly found confidence transforming him into the man Claire loves. A small relief washes momentarily over his body banishing the butterflies from his lungs. Frank’s joy is answered with a proud smirk curving along Claire’s mouth. Maybe after all she is the rock he needs. 

Frank grasps her cold hand in his pulling her up from the hard floor, leading them towards the bedroom. Their bed creaks in the darkness as Claire sits down on the plush bedding to remove her high heels from her tired feet. Claire breathes out in relief as she wiggles her stiff toes and stretches her ankles out with a crack. The perfect arches of her feet a reminder from her dancer years. 

The air feels heavy and pleasure lurches up deep within her as he rounds her up, his shadow covering the warm light streaming through the doorway. Her blue eyes are glued in his as Frank lifts up her leg slowly, making her tight skirt hitch up, baring her thighs. Bringing her leg close to his shoulder, he kisses the small protruding bone of her ankle softly. He peppers small kisses down her ankle while running his hands down her tight calf. His massage on her sore muscles earn a pained moan from Claire, which makes him stir in his pants. 

She plops down on the bed closing her eyes breaking their heated eye contact. Francis’ ministrations pull out a small mew from her lips as his thumb finds particularly sore spot. 

‘’I’ve been thinking.’’ Claire sighs. 

‘’About what?’’ His hands continue on massaging her calf creeping towards the back of her thighs. 

‘’You are going to roll your eyes at me.’’ Her serious tone and the opening of her blue eyes gets him to abandon his quest towards her core, stopping his hands on the back of her knee. 

‘’Not to you. Never.’’ He assures sliding his hands back up to her ankle before placing her foot securely back on the bed. Francis eyebrows draw close to his eyes as he crawls next to Claire on the bed. 

‘’Have you ever thought about having children?’’ She rolls onto her side locking her serious eyes in his. 

‘’I thought you weren’t fond of children?’’ Frank’s brow furrows in slight confusion about the sudden question, waiting for her answer. 

‘’I’m not but have you ever thought about having them?’’

He waits a while musing the question before answering to her. Trying hard to find the right words to satisfy her curiosity. ‘’Honestly I have. And I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t want any. ‘’ 

‘’Why’s that?’’ Of course it’s not enough for her. What a curious thing she is. 

‘’I’m not suited to being a father… You know my father was a horrible man. Maybe deep inside I’m afraid that I’ll make terrible mistakes and do the wrong things. That I try to reflect myself and my needs into that child. ‘’

As she stays silent, deep in her thoughts he continues: ‘’Also we wouldn’t have the time to raise a child.’’

‘’You’re right.’’ She silently agrees with that. They are in no situation to have a child right now. 

‘’You don’t want any children, do you?’’ He carefully forms the question, trying to get the answer he wants from her even though he already knows what she’s about to say. 

‘’I’ve thought about it. Sometimes, rarely - - But still I’ve thought about it.’’

‘’Could you see us as parents?’’ He hums with a slight smile letting his hands run through her soft hair as his mind wanders off into another reality of them that can’t be. 

“Honesty? Not in seven hells.” She cracks and laughs at the mental image of Francis changing nappies. He would make a horrible father. 

Frank joins her ringing laughter and smacks a wet kiss on her forehead before embracing her close to his chest. He sinks into the familiar scent of her shampoo and whispers: ‘’We’re perfect just like this.’’ 

.:.:.

The hotel room’s scarlet carpet burns its way through the ivory skin of her back. His heavy hips thump into hers, slamming her forward with his hard thrusts. Her hot breaths pant against the side of his neck as her hands travel over his shoulders before pulling him into a bruising kiss. Sparks of pleasure run through their nerves as they fall on to the floor tired but sated. Frank rolls to the side with a grunt trying not to squish her under him. Claire’s chest beats wildly as her lungs fill rabidly with air. She closes her eyes to focus solely on the bliss of feeling nothing. 

A nudge against her side and the soft timbre of Francis voice makes her open her eyes. ‘’Don’t fall asleep there. Come to bed with me.’’ 

It takes a while for them to move their tired limbs and crawl back into the disheveled sheets, falling asleep next to each other. Bodies bruised, scattered across the bed. 

Before her eyes open, she can hear church bells echoing from a hill not too far away. It must be a Sunday. Their first morning in Charleston. Daring to open her eyes, Claire squints against the blinding sun light spilling through the curtains. Despite the booming bells, Francis sleeps sound besides her completely unbothered by the noise. She admires his still sleeping form. He’s a handsome man, her husband. She would love to sink her fingers deep into his chestnut brown hair. Biting her lip she decides against the urge to disturb him. He’s tranquil, finally at ease even innocent looking against the brisk white sheets of their bed. She understands what the crowd sees in him but what they don’t know is how fortunate she is, to know the man behind the mask.

Carefully she moves closer to him, tugging herself into his arms. His heavy body turns in his sleep to automatically draw her closer to him. She lays her head on his chest just above his heart. Sometimes she wishes these quiet moments could last for a lifetime. It’s the first time in years she has felt truly safe in someone’s arms. She trusts Francis with her life. 

Hours later Frank opens his eyes to itchy nose and a face full of Claire’s golden hair. Light catches on the dust floating slowly in the air, making the moment feel like he’s still dreaming. His fingers sink deep into her scalp as his fingers comb through her hair pulling it back from her face and away from his ticklish face. 

After lounging in the bed for hours, Claire is the first one to give up and rise from their pillow fort and give up the warmth of his arms. Tempted by the enticing smell of fresh coffee, she walks to the door to get their breakfast. She looks like an angel in the warm hues of the mid-day sun. His fantasy of her is shattered by her bare back looking grotesque with the bruises and the carpet burn he’s inflicted on her. Small dots of discolored red and blue littered along her spine, marking her vertebrae. 

‘’Do you think we could skip the Gibbes Museum of Art, because I think the blue on your back makes up for the Monet?’’ 

Her pouty lips open in a scoff before Frank points to the mirror standing on the corner of the room: ‘’Just look, I’m so sorry. You should have said something.’’ 

‘’Fuck’’ She rarely swears but this really is something. Her fingers trace gingerly on the red, blue and purple spread around her spine. 

‘’I won’t be wearing that white dress with the open back then. You’re lucky that I have other options with me otherwise you would have gotten to go to the museum and shopping.’’ 

‘’It was worth trying though.’’ Frank snickers as she pulls a robe over her naked body before getting the tray. He fights the urge to make her spill everything over the bedding but accepts the fresh cup of coffee handed to him. They’d never do this at home. Eat breakfast in the middle of the day in their bed. For a while they can pretend they’re trapped in a space without time and the campaign waiting for them. 

As Claire leafs through the newspaper Frank watches her lithe arms. Her muscle fibers shine through the pale skin of her shoulders, drawing dynamic lines over her delts. She’s been getting thinner again, her breakfast sitting cold on the tray. Veins in her forearms are visible as he traces the blue rivers risen up from her skin softly while humming a familiar tune. He wishes this all would be over soon.

Later they take some time between the venues to visit the museum. Since their first date it’s been a tradition for them to go to a museum. Claire adores the marble sculptures and the paintings. Analyzing every piece she sees closely. Her curls cover her face as she bends down in her light blue dress to look closer at the fine details of the portraits. 

Meanwhile he adores her. The way her eyes lit up and she lets out a breathy gasp when she sees something beautiful. The wonder on her face is stunning. He slowly trails behind her, letting her lead them through the maze of history. 

He can’t say he understands or really appreciates art. It’s beauty and time of glory fleeting. The real beauty lies in power and influence, in the stone buildings that stand towering over the Capitol. 

While touring the museum, all he can think about is Claire. She’s all the art he need in his life. A vision, wrapped only in the white sheet of their bed. Divine. Made to pull him even deeper into the abyss. He wants to snag her up and fuck her against the wall right here between the Water Lilies. Claire with her lips bitten red trembling in the throes of release, now that’s what he calls art. 

.:.:.

It’s curious how the days turn into hours inside your mind. Time flashing by before you even realize it’s already gone. It’s 30 minutes before they leave for the election party. Everything is ready, their fate almost sealed. 

Claire’s stuck in the bathroom staring into the mirror brushing her long hair behind her ears. Adjusting the high neckline of her navy blue gown as her skin prickles from nerves. Her make-up is perfect as always making her crystal eyes stand out, enhancing her beauty. She has cleaned her teeth carefully. Brushing, flossing and using the toothpick until her gums bled to rid herself from the bile in her mouth. The taste of iron overpowering the taste of mint in her mouth.

Her heart pounds against her throat as the weird sense of calm slowly claims her body. It’s hard to feel everything and nothing at the same time. Couple of hours and they know if they’ve succeeded. This might be the end before the beginning. 

Even if Francis makes it to the congress, she’s going to have to do this year after year until he gets into the leadership. Maybe they’ll shoot for Secretary of State, Vice President.

Fuck campaigning.

Francis is completely immersed in his plans. He’s reaching for the stars and trying desperately to catch the moon. Building a legacy for himself through great deeds that will remain forever in the history. His pride and hubris blind him from one thing:

What will it be that they’ll leave behind after all this ends. What will they leave behind if all of this fails. 

Elected office, that’s what she wants. Claire won’t succumb into being another trophy wife of Washington. She can’t continue to lean on Francis blindly in the future. It may take years but she’s willing to work for it. Now they have to play their cards right, to focus on him first, for he has the best chance of winning and moving their chess pieces forwards. 

At the moment she’s just the Texas debutante, but it is the queen who wins the game of chess after all. 

Francis is what he is. And in these desperate moments climbing to the top, she is what is the most suitable for that situation. Whatever she gets to play today. She understands that his political career is the moon and the stars on his sky, but she will make herself the sun that makes him shine.

**Author's Note:**

> Claire is such a geek. 
> 
> I wanted to skip this and get to the sweet angst but there you go. I'm still facing the greatest writers block ever and I had to get this out. So if you found this shit, don't worry there be much better stuff coming to your way.


End file.
